Fire and Lightning

Sagar swallowed. Whether he was swallowing pride or rage, Ryn didn’t know. Maybe both.

“I want to hire you,” he said to the engineer.

“For what?”

“To repair my ship. There’s a problem with one of the fuel lines.”

Elrann looked him up and down again.

“Sorry, I’m all booked up.”

“I can pay you.”

“So can my current clients.”

“I can pay you well. My crew and I took down an Imperial warship recently. It was very…lucrative for us.”

Elrann hesitated, and for a moment it seemed she might be tempted. Then: “Sorry, nothing doing, pirateman.” She fixed Sagar with a cool look, relaxing her eyebrows and grinning again. “I don’t do work for little turdburgulars like you.”

“Nyarrrgrh!” Sagar cried, and drew one of his twin blades from his side. He held the point up in front of Elrann’s face, whose eyes went wide. “Say that to me again, woman!”

The table went quiet again—or at least the drinkers nearest them went quiet.

I don’t think saying the word ‘woman’ like it’s an insult is going to help us here very much, thought Ryn. He wanted to help, but he had no idea what to do, and he didn’t even have a weapon. Sagar was completely botching this. Even Ryn could tell that pulling a sword on someone holding a pistol at close range in an inn full of people was a colossally mornonic thing to do.

Nuthea stepped forward, putting her hand on the captain’s back. “Now now, Sagar,” she said. “I’m sure we can find another engineer somewhere else. Come, we don’t want this to turn...uncivilised.”

“Hey yoush,” said a deep, drunken voice. “’m not...finnished wiv yoush yet.”

Saldor, back on his feet.

Elrann turned to look at him but kept her pistol aimed at Sagar. “Sit down, you lightweight blowhard! I beat you fair and square. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Hey, Saldor’s up again!” someone called.

“Give me those sixty gold pieces back!”

“No way, I won them fairly! Game’s over!”

“It’s not over till one of them can’t drink any more, and he’s still conscious!”

Shouted argument resumed.

Amidst them, Saldor said “Hey! Nobodies callsh me a lightwit blarstard!”

He pulled back a fist and took a swing at Elrann, who leapt up out of her chair and moved away from the table, keeping her pistol trained on Sagar.

“Butt out poodoo-for-brains,” said Sagar, “we’re having a conversation!” He kicked the man hard in his muscled stomach and Saldor doubled up with a grunt, clutching it.

A large man with a thick black beard who had been sitting next to Saldor stood up and snarled at Sagar. “Oi! You hit my man Saldor! That’s cheating!”

“Oh shut up, Orsan!” said another man next to him. “You’re just sour ’cause he lost!” The man took a swing at Orsan and hit him in the face, knocking him into Saldor, who took offence and in his drunken stupor punched his own supporter back the way he had come.

Chaos erupted. Soon everyone was calling everyone else names and accusing each other of cheating at the bets, and then fists and feet were flying as the fighting grew into a full-on tavern brawl.

“Give me those coins!”

“Mine! Mine! I won!”

“Get off me you mongrel!”

Sagar still had a sword pointed at Elrann, but a man got thrown over the table and crashed into the side of him, making him drop it. When it clattered to the floor Ryn picked it up for him to keep it safe. Sagar didn’t even seem to notice. As soon as he’d scrambled back to his feet, he yelled, “Oi! Nobody throws someone at Captain Sagar Edbini, Scourge of the Dokanese Skies, and lives!” Then he dived back into the melee, yelling curses and throwing punches.

Elrann clicked off a mechanism on the top of her pistol, stashed it somewhere inside her overall and said, “Bloody skypirates. Arses too big for their breeches. I won that contest fair and square. Hey you lot, don’t forget I get 10% commission on all winning bets on me!” She dived into the fray too, punching and kicking her way through the crowd to try to get back to Sagar, now lost in the midst of the brawl.

Fists flew into faces, knees into groins, elbows into stomachs. Men roared with anger and pain and defiance. Bodies were launched this way and that. A chair broke. Somebody’s tooth rattled on the floor and stopped near Ryn’s foot. More people rushed over from the other tables to try to break up the fight or join in. Some were shouting for Saldor, some for Elrann, but it was impossible to tell which side was winning. Somewhere in the middle of the mass of bodies stood Sagar and Elrann and Saldor, occasionally colliding with each other and wrestling before being broken apart again, but they kept disappearing out of view among the carnage of limbs.

Ryn and Nuthea stood watching all this in silence.

They shared a look of open-mouthed shock. Apparently neither of them had ever seen anything like this before.

“This is no good,” said Ryn over the din. “We’re never going to get the ship fixed like this. At this rate we might even lose our captain.”

“I know,” said Nuthea. “That foolish man is going to get himself killed, all because of his pride. We need to do something. We need to get their attention somehow.”

“How?” said Ryn.

Nuthea licked her upper lip and looked at him. After a moment she said “Your powers.”

“What? No! I don’t even know how to use them properly yet! You use yours!”

“Lightning is unpredictable and hard to contain, especially inside. I have to aim it at a specific target to discharge it, but it’s too cramped in here and there are too many people. I might miss my target or lose control and kill someone or, even worse, it might jump between several people. You, though…” Her blue eyes glittered. “You have touched the Fire Ruby. You have flame projection powers. Flame can be controlled a little more easily than lightning. You can show them some fire and get their attention.”

“I...I don’t know how,” Ryn said, chest tightening, mouth going dry. “I’ve only manifested fire once before when I was really desperate and about to die, and it didn’t work again afterwards. I’m not sure I can do it again.”

“Of course you can,” said Nuthea, and pulled Ryn by the arm out of the way of a man stumbling backwards from being kicked in the face. “I’ll teach you. Hold out your hand.”

Ryn hesitated a moment, then reluctantly held out his hand in front of him.

“Palm up, silly.”

He turned it over.

“Ok, now take some deep breaths. The reason you were only able to manifest fire a single time when you awakened your gift was because you used up all your mana at once. It takes mental and physical energy to use magic—it’s tiring. But if you control yourself and only use some of your mana, you should be able to create some smaller flames—and you won’t tire yourself out so much.”

“But I told you, I don’t know how. It just sort of...happened before.”

“Nonsense,” chided Nuthea. “You’ve touched the Fire Ruby. You have the gift now. It’s a part of you. It’s like a muscle. All you have to do is focus, and you can use it. You have to believe you can do it in order to do it, though. And you’ve done it before, so you know you can do it. The more you practice the more proficient you will become in it. Now come on. Focus, and make a flame appear on your hand.”

Ryn stared down at his open palm. This is crazy, he thought. I can’t do this. Although… He remembered shooting fire from his hands in Cleasor and engulfing the Imperial soldier. He remembered the flames leaping from the rooftops of his hometown. He remembered his father’s dying expression. He remembered his mother’s look of pain as Vorr’s blade pierced her. There was a fire burning inside him, a fire of passion and fury and hatred. If he really had this gift, and if he could learn to master it, maybe, just maybe he would be able to get revenge on the man who had done all this to him. Maybe he could redeem himself from allowing it all to happen.

A small flame lit in the centre of Ryn’s palm, hovering just above it.

He closed his hand and hopped back in surprise, and the flame went out with a quiet hiss. “I did it!” he said over the noise of the tavern brawl. “Did you see that? I did it!” He heard his own words, and cleared his throat. “Ahem. I mean: there we go. Easy, after all. Er...you’re a good teacher, Nuthea.”

“I know,” said the princess, smiling. “Now do it again. Only this time, hold your hand up, hold the flame for longer, and let it burn a little brighter. We need to get their attention.” She nodded towards the fighting mess.

Ryn took another deep breath. Making that small flame appear had been like engaging a muscle, one that he hadn’t realised he’d had. He held out his hand and engaged it again, focusing on the space just above his palm and willing...

A small flame appeared again. Ryn blinked, but this time he kept his hand out and continued to concentrate, and the flame stayed where it was, hovering above his hand, a little tongue of orange-red like you get from a candle.

“Good,” said Nuthea next to him. “Now make it grow.”

Acting on instinct, Ryn willed the flame to increase in size. Fire, grow, he thought.

The little flame expanded into a flickering ball, sending up some more clear smoke into the air above it. Ryn’s palm felt warm but not overhot. He had to hold his concentration to keep it there.

Some of the brawlers stopped what they were doing and stood still to stare at the flame. He didn’t pay them any attention, but continued to concentrate on the fireball he was holding in existence with his mind.

“That’s really good,” said Nuthea. “You’re getting their attention. Just a little more.”

Spurred on by the thrill of success and her encouragement, Ryn willed a little more energy into the flame. It took more effort, but the fireball grew in size by another inch. It lit the area around them brightly now, and beyond it Ryn caught sight of more of the brawlers stopping in their tracks to stare at what he was doing.

Ryn stretched his arm out and held his hand up, palm flat pointing towards the ceiling, holding the blazing fireball above his head.

Something itched at his mind. The fireplace. The candles. He realised he was still strangely aware of them, even though he wasn’t looking at them. It was like he could sense them burning in different places in the room. He closed his eyes for a moment. To me.

He opened his eyes. The fireball he held above his head had grown again, and now it was the only light source in the tavern. He had drawn the energy from the candles and fireplace, extinguishing them, pulling them into his own fire, a huge ball of flame that crackled quietly above him in the air now, burning in place, sending out light in every direction, with Ryn at its origin. He had to concentrate hard to hold it in place.

The whole tavern had stopped what they were doing now and frozen in place looking at him in the light from the fireball, some still holding each other in headlocks or with their fists raised where they had been about to throw their next punch. There among them were Sagar and Elrann, mouths hanging open and eyes stretched wide like everyone else’s.

Nuthea spoke up. “Ladies and gentlement, I’m sorry to have had to get your attention like this, but I simply must extract my associate from this little fracas. Come, Sagar.”

She beckoned with a finger as though coaxing a misbehaving pet.

Slowly, carefully, eyeing the fireball which Ryn was concentrating on holding up with every step, Sagar threaded his way through the frozen fighters back to Nuthea’s side. They let him do so, their own eyes transfixed by fire too.

“Good,” said Nuthea. “Um, thank you. We shall be leaving now.” She turned her head to Ryn and whispered, “You can put that out now.”

Ryn’s heart missed a beat, and the fireball wobbled. “Er, what?” he whispered back out of the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know how!”

“Just take another deep breath and will the flames to rescind! It can’t be that hard!”

Everyone was watching him.

Ryn breathed in, then coughed. The fireball shot up into the wooden ceiling, setting it on fire.

For a moment, the three of them watched the frozen tavern-brawlers to see what they would do, and vice versa.

And then the roars and shouting began again, and everyone went back to hitting each other, some of them scrambling forwards to get out, or at Sagar, or Ryn, or maybe Nuthea—who could tell?

“Back! Get back, you vermin!” shouted Sagar, kicking one of them in the shins. He snatched his sword back off Ryn and waved it at two more of them, who sprang backwards for safety.

They took their chance and sprinted for the door, bashing it open and bursting out into the night air.

They pelted down the streets and made sure they were a good distance away from the tavern.

The three of them stood on the cobbles in the light from a street-lamp, at a corner that the street they had been on made with a residential alley of brick buildings, and got their breath back.

Ryn stood with his hands on his knees for a while, panting loudly. Now that he was out of the inn, tiredness sapped his every muscle.

“I’m exhausted,” he said lamely.

“That’s normal,” said Nuthea, breathing fast too. “I told you: it takes physical energy to use mana. But it’s like training a muscle. It gets easier with time.”

“Bloody tavern-dwellers!” cursed Sagar now he had his breath. “Bloody women! Bloody woman!”

“Look, numb-nuts,” said a voice, “I’ll come with you and fix your ship on the condition that you stop calling me that like it’s some sort of a bad thing.”

“Who’s there?!” cried Sagar.

A shape had appeared a few paces away from them in the street. She stepped into the lantern-light. Elrann, with her purple hair, blue overall, goggles and metal bangles.

“Who’d ya think?” she said with her trademark grin. “Didn’t ya hear me? I’ll do the job. For a fee, of course.”

Huh? Ryn thought. Something had changed her mind. Maybe she had lost out on her commission for winning the drinking game and now needed the money.

“About time,” said Sagar with the graciousness of a pig.

“What he means,” says Nuthea, “is ‘thank you’. We’d be glad to have your help.”

“Yeah,” said Elrann, “well, try to keep a rein on your dog—I can always change my mind.”

Ryn could almost see the steam coming out of Sagar’s ears.

Elrann’s eyes found him. “That was pretty impressive, that fire trick you did back there. Not seen anything like that before, and I’ve seen a few things in my time. You’ll have to show me how you did that sometime.”

Ryn’s body ached. He couldn’t think of a good response. “Er...sure,” was all he came up with.

“Right,” said the engineer. “Now, where’s this ship of yours?”

Nuthea regarded Ryn with a crinkle in her forehead.

“It’s late,” she said. “And the airfield is a good distance away. We can take you to it in the morning. For now we should find lodging somewhere in the city. Don’t you agree, Sagar? Do you have enough coin for all of us?”

“Rrr,” grunted Sagar, probably in assent.

“Do you know of anywhere?” Nuthea asked Elrann.

“Well,” said Elrann, “I was going to spend the night in the Travellers’ Rest, but I don’t think any of you should be going back there in a hurry. If it’s even there to go back to for much longer. I know a few other places, though.”

“Thank you,” said Nuthea.

Sagar cursed under his breath.

Ryn yawned.

“Come with me,” said Elrann.

They followed her into the night.